The charming face of a warrior nation

Nothing enlivens a World Cup as much as a plucky underdog, particularly when it has hordes of winsome young female supporters thronging the streets. But, as the South Koreans go out to play Germany in the semi-final tomorrow with a halo hovering over their heads, the reality of their country is a good deal tougher than the festive images that have been filling our television screens.

Fevered complaints from Italy and Spain about refereeing mistakes that have made the co-hosts the surprise team of the competition are seen by an indulgent international public as no more than the whingeing of countries where cheating is an art form. A Korean victory tomorrow would be taken as proof of football's ability to make the world a bigger and more inclusive place.

But that heart-warming view of sport as the great enabler conceals the true nature of a land which is as determinedly self-reliant as any of those it has met on the pitch this month.

Even more than most nations, the 48 million South Koreans are driven by the desire to win in any field where they compete. The intense training regime imposed by their Dutch coach, Guus Hiddink, reflects the modern history of a people who have had to be both physically and mentally hard to survive.

From 1910 to 1945, they lived under brutal Japanese colonisation, forced to provide "comfort women" and labour for the imperial army. More than half-a-million Koreans working in Japan were savagely discriminated against. No wonder their children have shown such relish at doing better than their co-hosts across the Sea of Japan.

Only five years after the liberation of 1945, the communists in the north set off the Korean War which took four million lives. The conflict left the peninsula divided to this day along the 38th parallel, with 37,000 American troops helping to defend the south against the lunatic hermit kingdom across the demilitarised zone over which the south has been broadcasting news of its footballing success.

As local commentators have reflected, before the competition started people abroad knew Koreans mainly as a people who eat dogs - as well as large quantities of garlic and pungent pickled cabbage. Now the national trade and investment agency says the team's fighting spirit is "helping to transform the country's image", and notwithstanding the fury of the Italians, even the trade office in Rome hopes to go on doing business.

Allegations of an anti-European conspiracy by referees from smaller footballing nations - and even the comments by Fifa president Sepp Blatter on the need to review the referee selection system - have been brushed aside as sour grapes. If football can energise a nation, as happened in France in 1998, the Land of the Morning Calm is on its way to what one newspaper called a "national crusade for a new era in the 21st century". Reflecting the nation's pugnacious spirit, the players are known as "Our Warriors".

Sporting success is also having domestic political repercussions. President Kim Dae-jung, whose election in 1998 confirmed the country's emergence from military-led authoritarianism into democracy, steps down later this year. South Korea's Fifa vice-president, Chung Mong- joon, who played a major role in getting co-host status with Japan, is eyeing a run for the succession as an opposition candidate.

His chances are boosted each time he steps out onto the pitch to shake the players by the hand - particularly after the ruling party did badly in local elections last week. The opposition's chances have also been boosted by allegations that two of Kim's sons peddled favours for millions of pounds in bribes.

This latest scandal follows a string of corruption cases that came to light in the 1990s, when bribery was often regarded as part of the normal way of doing business in South Korea. I myself once found an envelope stuffed with largedenomination dollar bills left in a book given to me by a Korean with whom my company was negotiating a contract - when I returned it, he said it had been "an accident".

The euphoria on the field chimes in neatly with a revival in national self-confidence powered by an economic resurrection after the damage of the East Asia crisis of the late 1990s and last year's international downturn.

That brought down some of the giant conglomerates which had been the foundation stones of previous growth - one leading boss has disappeared with a cloud of unanswered financial questions hanging over him.

But, as in the past, South Korea has shown an extraordinary ability to pick itself up, dust itself down and get working again. Growth is forecast at six per cent for the year. Exports are up eight per cent.

International ratings agencies have just upgraded the country, one of only two in Asia to belong to the rich nations' club, the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD).

Though unions play a tough game, companies are reporting confidence for the rest of the year. The stock market is at a two-year high, and the currency has been steadily strengthening.

As Japan falters, South Korea increasingly sees itself becoming the hub of North-East Asia, spreading its wings through the rest of the continent, selling cars and electronic goods in Europe and America, and enjoying levels of productivity of which the West can only dream. This is a country where small businesses are currently on the warpath to prevent the government legislating for a five-day week.

The millions of red-shirted supporters we see on the television screens may be innocent newcomers to the world of top-league football, hardly able to take in their country's success but relishing their emergence into the worldwide ranks of supporters of the game.

But, if sport has a wider significance, their national devotion, and the performance of their team, should be reminders of the challenge posed by a country like South Korea in a world competition even more important than the one on the pitch.

Jonathan Fenby is the former editor of The South China Morning Post.